


The Way it Was

by fellowshipper



Series: everyfiveyears: Liam Pace [1]
Category: Lost
Genre: Brothers, Canon Related, Children, Gen, Jealousy, POV Child, POV Third Person, Pre-Canon, Sibling Love, Sibling Rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-02 13:07:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/369293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fellowshipper/pseuds/fellowshipper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam was five the first time he felt honestly, truly jealous of his brother. Written for the LJ community everyfiveyears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way it Was

Liam was five the first time he felt honestly, truly jealous of his brother. Most people, he figures, can't pinpoint that exact moment that comes to everyone who's ever had a sibling, but he's one of the lucky ones. Or unlucky ones. Or something. Regardless, he remembers very clearly when the very first time was that he felt like either shoving his baby brother into the street or laying down himself.

Life in the Pace household, as a general rule, was typical suburban Manchester fare. Dad came home from the unforgiving, ungrateful work at the same slaughterhouse he'd been more or less indentured to for the past however many years, too tired to say much of anything to anyone past a simple "hello." Mum would make dinner and see to it that the boys ate and bathed and other things that mums do because everyone knew that Dad, hardworking bloke he was, would fall asleep in the recliner in the lounge, and Liam's teacher had already addressed Mum about the ring of dirt seemingly tattooed around his neck. So Mum was in charge of the things around the house, even though she had a sort of job herself ("Not really a job," she pointed out if Liam asked, but she got paid for watching his two older cousins whilst their parents were at work, so that was close enough to a job for him).

When his Aunt Janine and Uncle Robbie came round to pick up their hellions after work, they nearly always made a point to coo and fuss over baby Charlie, playing with the thin wisps of blond hair on his head or doting over the impossibly startling blue eyes he already sported. "Look how cute!" they'd brag as they pinched his chubby cheeks and poked at his chubby legs. He'd cackle and wriggle in his mother's arms, and Liam, sitting across the table and pretending to enjoy the show, felt another small piece of himself die away.

It wasn't just Mum's crazy sister and her husband, either. At first that's how Liam consoled himself, citing their reasons as being that they could remember when their twin boys were that young and cute and were just hit by sudden pangs of nostalgia. Then he realized that no, it happened everywhere. Grandma Etta and Pappy…well, Liam didn't know his real name, it may very well have been Pappy…anyway, whenever they came to visit they always made a big fuss over the fat ball of flesh that was precious little Charlie. Charlie with the big sticky-outy ears (Liam made sure not to say that around Mum, as she tended to threaten to pull his out to match if he didn't quit making fun) and the funny nose and the freakish eyes. He wasn't that cute, Liam thought. True, he wasn't perhaps the greatest judge of these things, but he had encountered plenty of babies in his time and felt himself a good enough critic to at least have a say in the matter.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that once upon a time that was him being lavished with relentless attention. That was him being cuddled and kissed and adored by seemingly everyone in Manchester (and at least one person from London, Mum's friend Helen who talked like the people on TV). That was him his mother used to hold and bounce on her hip. That was him who used to have the privilege of falling asleep on Dad's shoulder when he'd come in from work and collapse in the big chair.

Part of Liam hated Charlie for that, he was sure.

Even at five, Liam knew it was stupid to hate a baby for just being a baby and getting the perks that went along with the position. It also got him into trouble if Mum overheard his grumbles. He loved his little brother, he did, even if right now he thought he was rather a nuisance. His idea of a brother was someone his age and height who could kick a football around with him in the yard. His young mind hadn't anticipated a tiny, squalling little thing that just cried all the time and rarely did anything but eat and sleep and stink. Charlie was still trying to master the art of walking, and more often than not ended up toppling sideways, which always made Liam giggle. But Liam still loved him. Charlie hadn't done anything worthy of his hatred anyway, especially not this seething, venomous kind like he normally reserved for cabbage and that one awful film with the witch and the monkeys that still made him cry whenever he saw it.

Somehow, though, at some point, he found himself turning that hatred on this blubbery thing that could barely even stand upright on its own and blinked its hideously big eyes at everything as if the world would fall at its feet. Maybe that was because it usually worked. He refused to hold Charlie, refused to feed him, refused to even look at him when he was throwing a tantrum over a bottle out of his reach or a toy that he'd thrown from his playpen. Mum came running from the kitchen and gave him everything he wanted. If Liam did that, at best he'd be told to hush and at worst he'd receive a swift hand to the bottom  _and_  an order to be quiet.

Liam used to be loved like that, too. He used to have virtual slaves catering to his every desire. Perhaps it was better this way, that he encountered it now. That was showbiz, right? You're hot today and gone tomorrow. But then, that was pretty much life in general. You could be someone's entire world one day and then the next find that they've unexpectedly switched galaxies. He wanted to be someone's world again someday. He wanted to know what that kind of unconditional love and attention felt like, now that he could actually talk and give it a name. It would be named love, obviously, but something else. Hope, maybe, or faith. Trust. Something intangible that all the same might restore just a little of his spirit.

Or maybe he'd just kick the football around by himself and wait his turn.


End file.
